


Quarantine

by Tales_Unique



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Darksiders - Freeform, Darksiders Imagine, Darksiders Imagines, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-14 16:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales_Unique/pseuds/Tales_Unique
Summary: Question from Ellie: I just came across your drabbles here and this chapter had me thinking... What if they all got sick at the same time???I'm imagining them all stuffed into a big bed together so their Human can keep an eye on them like my mom used to do with my brother and I when we were sick.Like would they bicker and fight with each other cause they all feel bad and want their humans attention?I can imagine War and Strife doing something like trying to fight or arm wrestle over their human's attention to the point where Fury tries to kill them both for keeping her up and Death tries to pretend they don't exist until he finally snaps.Poor human would be exhausted trying to reign them in but it sounds hilarious!





	1. Chapter 1

Impossible; it’s the only word that comes to mind when you step into your living room and survey the scene before your eyes. Never before have you had the company of all four of the Riders at once, especially when they are all showing the telltale symptoms of illness.

You’re somewhat thankful that you’ve cashed in your leave days with work because no doubt you will also be sharing in their suffering before long, even though you had been planning to use the time to travel. With a soft huff you dispel your own negativity and return to Strife’s side, where he sits morosely on the floor with his back propped up against the back of your couch. It seems Fury’s outed him from his earlier place on it, content to lounge there like a house cat. You snort at the notion, finding it rather fitting in its irony, before passing Strife yet another blanket to try and calm his chills.

“Thanks,” he talks weakly and it still startles you that he sounds so nasally and frail. If anyone had told you that the Horsemen were susceptible to illness you would have straight up called them a liar, but now?

Now, not so much.

With a small smile you gentle pat his covered arm, glad that you’re able to help at least one of them. Strife is the most Human out of all of them, it would seem, at least when it came to being ill. He whined and struggled, fought against the symptoms, while his brethren simply endured.

“Oh, cease your **whimpering** , Strife! It’s infuriating!” Fury hisses from her spot, coiling up like a snake about to strike. You frown, moving around to the front of the couch so that you can see her properly. She has her fingertips pressed against her temples and her eyes are closed, face taut with pain and annoyance. A headache? No, more a migraine you surmise with a thoughtful hum.

“Did you take those tablets I gave you, Fury?” You try to be as quiet, soft, as you can, but she still grimaces when you talk, muttering a small ‘no’ and it’s then you notice the two little white capsules on the side table next to the glass of water you set there a good while ago. Huffing in frustration you turn to the only source of help you’ve had during this whole escapade; Death.

The eldest of the Riders sits in the corner of the room on an old recliner chair, silent as the grave as he too battles his own illness. Surprisingly he’s still very resilient and has helped you with the task of caring for his kin. Though, when he speaks there’s a hoarseness to his voice that betrays his own illness and you frown when he utters a small cough when he catches your gaze.

Raising a hand dismissively towards Fury, he forces a small chuckle. “Leave her, she cares little for human medicines,” he states, causing you to nod slowly; you’d known this, of course, but she seemed so in pain that you had to _try_ at least. “I gave her a tincture while you were tending to Strife,” he continues, voice tired and irritable, as though merely talking aggravates him, “give it time to work and she’ll be more tolerable.”

“I don’t want her _tolerable_ , I want her _better_ ,” you frown again, sparing a glance at the others before looking back to him, “I want you all to get better, it sucks seeing you all so... _miserable_.” It was the truth; seeing them all so low had brought your own mood down considerably, but you were making the best of the situation by helping as much as your mortality could allow. You had let War sequester himself in your spare room with your classic book collection, you gave into Strife’s every whim despite yourself, and for Fury you had turned on that awful incense plug-in she seemed so fascinated with, the one an old friend brought for you and insisted that you use, forcing the room to smell like an old church. The only one you were unable to find something to help for was Death. He had no mortal trinket that he enjoyed that you knew of and, unlike his middle brother, didn’t actively strive for your attention; he simply required your company, in passing, and watching you tend to his siblings seemed to soothe him in its own way.

“We’ll be fine, now stop your worrying and go about your business,” Death reprimanded lowly, though his voice didn’t seem to hold the same conviction as it normally would have. You’re unsure whether it’s because he’s sick or if it’s his small fondness for you showing through. Either way you offer him a small smile and nod, noticing briefly as his gaze seems to soften a fraction and the corners of his eyes crinkle in what you assume is a smile.

It wasn’t so difficult to go about as your normally would as it was to do so with the company you kept there. Strife is, by far, the worst for it. He tugs at the hem of your dressing gown to get you to look at him and clamps his hands around your ankle so you stumble and he can catch you, all so he can hold you close to his feverish form. Once you’re caught he makes a show of keeping you there in his lap, even as you pout and try to wiggle free.

“Strife,” you try scold him but you can’t help the laugh that spills forth as he holds you as if you were a cat nestled in his lap, “I have things to do, you heard Death, let me go about my business!”

“Can’t do that, little one,” he hums lowly, sniffling despite his best intentions. He still has that damn helmet on even though you’ve told him dozens of times to take it off, but you know that there’s a fond look on his concealed face from the way his voice dips and his hands clutch at you a little tighter.

“Come on, Strife,” you try to be softer, hoping you can appeal to some higher nature in him, “I need to go check on War, too, y’know.” For a second you think he’s actually considering letting you go but such hopes are dashed by his stubbornness to share; a trait he seems to only show so openly when ill. His grip tightens and you let out a frustrated growl.

“Strife!” You whine in frustration, but your own annoyance is cut short when a shadow is cast over the two of you, and you both quickly look up to see the angered self of Fury looming over you from the couch. It’s clear your shenanigans have disturbed her and you feel somewhat better knowing that you’re still in Strife’s grasp, aiming to use it as a means to protect yourself from her wrath.

“ **Strife** ,” she hisses lowly, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch so tightly that you distantly fear she’ll rip it, “let her go, this instant!” The Horseman’s eyes glare vibrantly at her sibling and after a momentary glare-off between the pair he reluctantly loosens his hold on you, grumbling under his breath as he does so. You quickly scramble to your feet, straightening your pajamas and dressing gown accordingly. While he sulks you use the time to check on War, carefully treading to your spare room where the behemoth currently dwelled.

Peeking your head inside you spot War easily, his large back facing you from where he sits on the bed in relative peace, save for the occasional sniffle. He’s the only one apart from Death that is manageable and actually allows you to help, though he seems perplexed when you offer him a steaming cup of tea or something similar. The thought makes you giggle; human remedies have little effect on the Horseman, but it’s the thought that counts and he seems more than happy to let you be happy while you help. The sound of your laughter catches his attention and he turns slightly to acknowledge you, you face softening as you notice the slight redness to his cheeks. Unlike Strife he has shed his obstructive armour without much fuss and was dressed in simple underclothes, and yet he still smouldered to the touch. Your smiles melts into a troubled frown when you come to touch a gentle hand to his forehead, watching his brow crease once more at your actions.

“You’re so warm,” you whine, feeling defeated. Nothing you were doing was helping, not that he seemed particularly bothered by the troublesome cold he had.

“It’s nothing to be so concerned with,” he breathes out, simply watching you as you scowl. Even now he’s the least talkative of them all and this saddens you because he’s ~~( secretly )~~ your favourite. Despite being the youngest, and having a temper, you find him the easiest to open up to and the least judgmental, at least in your opinion. Humming lowly you settle at his side on the bed, pulling your legs up to your chest to wrap your arms around them as you take a moment to simply _breathe_ , and he's more than willing to allow you the peace and quiet.

Of course, after barely five minutes has passed you hear movement and, realizing you had dozed off with your head awkwardly leaning on your knees, look up to spot Strife pushing the door open ungraciously, his helmet now removed so his golden eyes can narrow suspiciously upon you and his younger brother.

"Strife—" Before you can even begin your protest the Horseman steps forward, reaching out to scoop you up into his arms, and takes you away with him to your living room. Shocked by his clear disregard for the situation you simply blink owlishly up at him, grunting at the force in which he then flops down upon your sofa, blatantly ignoring Fury's hiss, which sounds like a tired, angry cat, as he disturbs her from yet another restless snooze. Even Death's attention is caught as he watches his younger brother lie back, his legs dangerously dangling over Fury's curled up form, holding you to him like a child would clutch at their favourite stuffed toy.

When you're finally free of the fabric of his scarf and have maneuvered into a more comfortable position you let out a huffing breath, realizing that there is no escape and that this is where you'll likely spend the rest of your day, at the very least.

"Strife?" You sigh, now laying with your back against his chest, head resting back into the crook of his neck. It's not that comfortable, but it's better than being scrunched up in his grasp.

"Mhm?" He hums, as innocent as the cat that ate the Canary.

"You're a _brat_ ," you huff, rolling your eyes when he simply chuckles at you. Feeling his arms tighten around your waist as he lays there with you, absent-mindedly playing with the ties of your dressing gown, almost distracts you from the feeling of hands touching your legs. At the sudden realization you jump, legs twitching, while your head shoots up to look at what had you in its grasp.

 **Fury**.

She looks oddly enchanting with her floating hair looking bigger, messier, than usual and her eyes are somewhat drowsy and unfocused. You calm despite the wicked snarl on her lips, knowing that she would have already unleashed her wrath if there was any to be had, but it seems that Death's tonic is working and she's much more tolerant of the intrusion. In fact, she seems to almost welcome it as she uses her grip on your legs as a means to pull herself up the lengths of your body until she's practically on top of you. Her body weight forces a whine to come from your lips and it prompts her to ease off to the side, slapping Strife's hands away so that she can hold you close instead, busying herself with taking in the scent of your hair; she enjoys the scent of your bed head almost as much as that plug-in you loathe.

You blink owlishly between the pair, feeling yourself begin to burn up from the heat that resonates from them both as they clamor at each side, subconsciously fighting for your attention even as the lull of sleep tugs at them.  
Awkwardly you try to shimmy out of your dressing gown , but only succeed in getting your arms free before Fury has you trapped again, enjoying the feel of your skin against her own. Like War, Fury has also traded in her armour for something less restrictive. However she decided to steal one of your oversized t-shirts and an old pair of shorts that barely fit her rather than simply dress down. It’s a better choice, at least.

A low grumble soon catches your attention as you, again, attempt to wrangle free from your own clothes, causing you to pause and look up, directly into the almost glowing gaze of War. It’s clear from his face that he’s irritated from Strife’s behaviour and at being disturbed, and you offer him a sympathetic smile from where you lay. The youngest Horseman spares a glance to his eldest sibling, who has been watching the commotion from his seat with a smirk upon his face, hidden behind the impassive expression of his bone mask, before he circles around the couch. His intention is clear, he wants in on the cuddle-the-human pile, but there’s barely any room since your couch is small and is already overcrowded between Strife and Fury already, nevermind **you** being there too.

No, this will _not_ stand.

With a determined expression you wriggle free, or at least as much as the grumbling Horsemen would allow, so that you can try and make room for War. It takes effort to convince Fury to tuck in her legs and even more to convince Strife to move about so that the behemoth can join you all, and by the time you’re done your cheeks are flushed and you heave a sigh of relief for now you all fit, sort of, on the couch and you are pleasantly nestled, finally free of your dressing gown altogether, in the middle of it all.

“ _Finally_ ,” you groan, feeling tired from the dizzying heat that now encased you. As your eyelids grow heavy you spread out much like a cat, briefly looking over the three contented Horsemen and realizing that this is the closest you’ve ever seen them all together.

Save for Death, that is.

“Death,” you call softly, tilting your head to look at the eldest Horseman, who is still settled in the same place he had been since arriving at your home that day, your slender hand reaching out to him, “come over here.” You wiggle your fingers, motioning for him to come over. He always seems on the outside, or at least to you he does, so you want this time to be different.

He raises an eyebrow from behind his mask and eyes you curiously, flicking his amber gaze between the soft yet wistful expression on your face and your outstretched arm before sighing deeply in defeat. Your smile falters at the weariness in his pace as he comes over to you but it’s reignited anew when your feel the cool digits of his fingers cover your own, enjoying the warmth that spreads from them as he settles down onto the floor. He sits there with his back pressed against the base of the couch, one leg stretched out before him while he uses the other to lean his arm upon, head leaning back to rest against the well placed cushion you gave him, a low rumble escaping him at the feeling of your fingers drifting through his hair. For once his hair is soft and clean, no doubt he used your shower while you were out getting medicines for them all, and it makes you feel at peace as your stroke through the locks. You breath a gentle sigh of contentment and your ministrations slow, no longer as deliberate, as you too finally succumb to the tendrils of sleep, joining the Four Horsemen for a well earned rest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Question from DeadlyNighshade97: That’d be interesting... What if, for a separate chapter also, Reader gets sick anyway, despite best efforts not to?  
> And all four of them, burdened by guilt for all the stress caused that likely made Reader sick in the first place, /all four of them/ pay Reader back in the same fashion?  
> I can’t tell whether that’d be chaos or peaceful maintenance... or both?

“Ah— Ahh- _choo_!”

It’s about the seventh sneeze that’s come from you in a row and you almost feel as though your body is going for a world record. It’s no surprise that you’ve become sick after taking care of the Horsemen when they were ill, but what did catch you off guard was how _slowly_ it had taken to manifest itself. Weeks had come and gone since then and all of the Four were back to their normal selves and, at first, you had only suffered a small cough. However before long you found yourself overcome with a fever, your throat sore and scratchy, while your nose grew stuffy and useless.

Whimpering from the nest you had made from every blanket you could find you curl up tighter, trying to get as much warmth as you could without much success; your body burned, raging with your fever, but you still felt cold. It was one of those moments where you truly hated life and were very much feeling sorry for yourself. As you wallow in misery you conclude you’ve had enough of the hell that is daytime television, feeling as though your brain may begin to dribble out of your ears at any given moment.  
With a frustrated huff you toss the remote of your T.V. aside, leaving the drone of The Pioneer Woman behind you as you shuffle to the kitchen, kicking off the sheets as you go.

As you rummage around for another bottle of Cold & Flu you’re oblivious to the sound of your front door opening and closing, the rumble of footsteps approaching, because your clogged sinuses prevent you from hearing properly.

Strife and War easily enter your home with the key you’ve given them, having gone ahead of Fury and Death so they can conclude business in peace before they too come over.

“She really does have it bad,” the elder of the two murmurs, shaking his head as he flicked his gaze over the mountain of blankets strewn about your couch and the crumpled tissues overflowing from your bin.

“Hey!” He calls out, peeking his head into the kitchen to see you chugging the medicine like your life depended upon it. This causes the Horseman to snort in laughter, beckoning his brother to come and see but War had already settled on the couch after pushing the blankets to the other end of it. With a shake of his head he looks back to you, all tired eyes and wild bed hair, and gives a sympathetic smile.

“You look rough,” his voice was low and quiet and you’re thankful that he’s considerate of the pounding headache you have.

“Yeah,” you croak, voice raw from coughing, “because of you guys.” It’s all in good humor, he can tell from the smile on your face as you shuffle past him to return to your blanket nest.

War looks troubled upon your return, his brow creased with concern at your awful complexion and scratchy voice, but remains quiet and inviting when you come to him. He sits back as much as he is able on your small couch, allowing you to curl up with your blankets against his side for warmth.

The behemoth is always devilishly hot and it’s _glorious_ right now.

Strife follows close behind and can’t help but feel a slight tug of, well, **something** that he doesn’t care to name when he sees how you’re already making yourself quite at home leaning against War.

“You’re so warm,” you groan in delight, burying your face into the crook of his flesh arm without a care in the world. It doesn’t take long for Strife to ditch his armour and helmet in favour of taking the unoccupied space at your side, spreading out, ( _laying claim_ , you would say ) and lazily running a hand through your locks. They’re damp with perspiration and he frowns when he feels how your skin is hot to the touch. Sharing a look with War, who is equally perplexed at the scorching heat that’s radiating from you, Strife decides that it’s time they gave you a little TLC.

It’s the least they can do after you so dutifully looked after them when they were ill.

War is the first to speak up after the mutual, silent agreement between the two, mimicking his brothers low tone to minimise any pain it may cause your head. “Perhaps you should got to bed? It would be more comfortable than here,” he suggested, grumbling when you responded by burrowing deeper into your blankets against his side.

“C’mon, sweetheart, we’ll come too,” Strife chimes in, trying his best to coax you out with a loving nickname and the promise of cuddles.

“No,” you reply stubbornly, voice muffled from the fabric.

It goes on like this for a few moments before it’s obvious that you’re not budging, so War decides he’s had enough and proceeds to lift you up, blankets and all, and escort you to your room. You try to make it difficult, squirming and grousing the entire way, but you’re no match for the towering Horseman. Once again Strife is quick to follow, laughing as War sets you down, a pout on your tired, pale face.

“That wasn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, sweetheart, now c’mon, snuggle up, it’s time for the cuddle pile!”

You stick your tongue out a Strife, who returns the gesture, and you can’t help the small giggle that escapes you at his antics as you make yourself comfortable. Strife, obviously, is quick to be at your side, joined by War on your other side, once he has shed the bulky armour he sports. The sudden heat erupted from such contact has you melting into the sheets, a blissful smile on your lips.

* * *

 You’re unsure what time it is when the sounds of hushed voices rouses you from your sleep. Your throat is dry, your nose still stuffy, but you feel a tiny bit better after such an undisturbed sleep. It’s then you notice the flowing, magenta hair of Fury as she sits perched on the edge of your bed, speaking with Strife.

Deciding that you have no real need to move you stay where you arm, resting your head against Strife arm, War’s warm body at your back; still asleep, you assume, from the way his breathing is deep.

“She’s still no better? Sickly little thing. She’s been ill for weeks!” Typical Fury, always impatient, but her tone betrays a note of worry.

“You know how Humans are, that’s why she needs us,” Strife counters, voice warm and affectionate, “Has Death made that tea yet? I want her to have some before she goes down for another round of z’s.”

Death. Making tea. For you.

Oh, this you have to see, if only to prove it’s not a fever-induced hallucinations.

Wriggling slightly against the confines of the blankets, you let out the most believable yawn you could muster, blinking up at the two Horsemen, who now turned their attention to you. Strife shifted so he could brush your hair from your face, smiling as he did so, while Fury turned to sit cross-legged in front of you.

“Hey sleepyhead, you have a good nap?” Strife teased, and you caught Fury’s eye-rolling as you nodded.

“Yeah, I feel a lot better.”

“Good,” Fury soon chimes in, tilting her head as she looks you over, “you’ve been moping around in this place for too long.”

“Well, being ill will do that to ya, Fury,” you chirp, watching with a cheeky smile as she huffs and turns away.

You were feeling much better with them there to raise your spirits, but it wasn’t long before your flu reared its ugly head and you began spluttering, trying to hold your cough in. Strife, sporting a frown, rubbed your back soothingly while Fury left to get Death and the tea he had been brewing. The commotion cause War to wake, blinking bleary white eyes for a moment before sitting up straight, panicked by your hunched over form. Before he could speak you quickly shake your head, hand practically flailing.

“I’m fine!” You quickly wheeze out trying to contain yourself, “just coughing!” It’s hard but you manage to stifle the awful cough, laying back to catch your breath just as Fury returned, closely followed by Death.

Sitting up straighter, you wipe at the slight wetness that pooled at the corner of your eyes, smiling to the masked Horseman as he offers you a languidly steaming mug ( your favourite, the one with the minimalist crows flying on it ) before crossing his arms.

“Drink all of it,” Death starts, pointing to the mug held cautiously in your hands. It doesn’t smell too pleasant, but then again the best medicines never do and you trust Death to not give you anything that would harm you. “It’ll work better that way,” he added, softer this time, but still firm. He was affectionate in his own, muted sort of way, and you nodded with an appreciative smile. He wouldn’t coddle you, not like the others, but would come and offer you support when needed.

“Thanks Death,” you called out when he turned to leave, catching his gaze as he glanced over his shoulder at you, watching you sip the drink before giving a nod of his own, satisfied you would do as told. He would be back and so you let him leave the room, allowing him his moments of solitude while you soaked up the attention of the remaining three.

“Every drop, sweetheart,” Strife teased as he watched you drink Death’s tea, chuckling warmly at the way your nose crinkled at the taste once you had finished, setting the mug aside.

Now you could focus on lapping up the attention they were giving you.

With a satisfied hum you curl up between War and Strife, beckoning Fury to come lay with you all once she’s finally settled on a film to watch; Wonder Woman.  
You can hear that the T.V. in the living room has been turned off, no droning of cooking shows or as-seen-on-tv adverts, which prompts you to conclude that Death is settled there, no doubt on standby should anything happen.

* * *

 It isn’t long before the Horsemen have all fallen asleep to the sound of glorious battle and Wonder Woman’s iconic image. You give a soft, relaxed sight at the sight of War laid back against you headboard, content in his rest, and Strife curled at your side, clutching a blanket that no doubt smelt of you to his face, is equally as content. Fury, unlike her brothers, slips in and out of sleep, dozing here and there as she tried to stay awake to watch the movie. Her voice is soft when she calls your name, having heard and felt you shimmying out of the covers and get to your feet.

“Where are you going?” She asks, leaning her head onto her hand from where she lays, stretched out like a cat, along the width of your bed.

“Getting some water,” you hum, looking to the door, “and to check on Death, I was hoping he’d come join us.” You keep your voice quiet out of habit, not wanting him to hear you, but you know he probably still can and it causes you to frown slightly.

The female Horseman notices and sighs, eyes stark in the light from the T.V.

“Death is...Well, Death. He likes his own company sometimes, always has, but he does care.” It’s awkward and her gruff tone doesn’t make the words sound sincere, but you know her better than that and you know what she means. With a warm smile and a nod you leave your room, pulling the door behind you so it’s mostly closed.

Padding quietly into the living room you don’t make it far on your path to the kitchen before Death gives a small cough to gain your attention, though he doesn’t get up from his seat. Instead he reaches out a hand, a simple gesture, and beckons you over. It’s not uncommon for Death to be affectionate like this and you accept his advance eagerly, forgetting your need for a drink altogether.

“Are you feeling well?” Death asks, voice quiet and soft yet still firm. It was a delectable mix, one that always made you weak to him.

“Yeah, much better,” you murmur as you settle on the arm of the chair he’s sitting in, his outstretched hand coming to rest on your lower back. “But that tea tasted awful,” you added, laughing lightly.

“As long as it helps, does it really matter about the taste?” Quips the Horseman as he easily pulls you from your perch to his lap, allowing you a moment to get comfortable.

“Yeah, actually! It does!” You huff, but there’s a grin forming on your lips and you’re struggling to keep your laughter at bay. Death’s snarky humor always makes you feel better, almost as much as his medicines do.

“Hm. I beg to differ,” he answers easily, leaning back in the seat. You settle against him with practiced ease, able to find him comfortable despite the sharp features his body possesses. With a turn in your fever you’re thankful for the coolness of his skin, it helps to dampen the raging heat that radiates from your flesh. You swear that, at this point, you rival War in how hot you are. Blowing a piece of hair out of your face you hum in contentment, finding solace in his quiet presence.

“I’m glad you all came today, I feel a lot better thanks to you guys,” you mutter through a yawn, eyes closing.

“It was no trouble,” Death answered, chuckling slightly when he could feel how your breathing became rhythmically slow and deep.

At least you didn’t snore, unlike his siblings.


End file.
